When I told my mum that my fringe comedy show was going to be all about her being single when I was growing up, she shook her head: “Oh, Stephen. Please don’t make me sound like a tart.” My parents got divorced when I was seven and my brother was 10. My mum was a normal mum – she refused to order dessert but insisted on having a bite of everyone else’s, she only swam breaststroke and she juggled a career while raising two children and made it look like the easiest thing in the world. You know, standard British mum.
It is often said that young boys who grow up with single mothers lack a strong male role model. I didn’t feel this. I saw my father every other weekend and I watched a lot of Ground Force, so I learned a lot about masculinity from Tommy Walsh.
I guess because of the divorce (and Tommy’s complete lack of communication) I am very close to my mum. There is a perception of a mummy’s boy as being weak, somehow less masculine. But I think our relationship is one of my greatest strengths. I love being close to my mum: I was a C-section birth, I didn’t want to leave in the first place. Popular culture misrepresents mummy’s boys. I blame Oedipus. Being masculine and being close to your mum are perfectly compatible – just look at mafia bosses and Andy Murray.
When my mum started dating, she was looking for a partner; however, I was searching for a stepdad. Getting introduced to them was exciting – they were keen to impress me, they knew the power I wielded. Each one was different – one guy supported Chelsea, one loved trains, another inexplicably called the remote control a “channel changer” – but I rarely gave them a hard time as long as they made my mum happy. I mainly saw them as a new person to show off to; I would proudly perform my magic trick of making a pound coin disappear and they would pretend they didn’t see me throw it up my sleeve. None of them were good enough in my opinion, not one could lay a full patio on soft ground in under 60 minutes while Titchmarsh was banging on about begonias.
It may seem weird that I watched my mum go out dating, but that was just my normal. Some mums run the PTA and some go to Café Rouge with a stranger every Thursday. Each time a man came to pick her up, I’d peek through the lounge curtains to assess whether he looked good enough for her (the answer was always no), then I’d wait patiently with the babysitter for her to return so we could do the post-date analysis. This was my favourite bit. She’d sit on the armchair, me on the sofa, and I’d fire questions at her – “What was he like?”; “What did he do?”; “Can he erect trellising on a sandstone wall?” My mum would offer a PG retelling and I would deliver a final verdict, like Caesar giving a thumbs up or thumbs down. As a result, I’m now an expert in what 45-year-old women want in a man – so in 16 years’ time I’m going to clean up.
The hardest bits were the breakups. Seeing my mum upset was tough and sometimes I felt frustrated that I couldn’t help. I’d make her a cup of tea and be on my best behaviour while occasionally mentioning that Tommy wouldn’t have treated her this way.
I wrote the show because I wanted to tell a positive story about growing up in a single-parent family. The media still stigmatises single parents, but I never felt that was true of my experience and I figured other people must feel the same, too. I also wanted to tell my mum how brilliant I think she is, but telling her face to face seems strange. Writing this, I realised it’s not actually a show about mum finding a man, it’s a show about family. With hindsight, I can see the only men mum was truly interested in were the ones my brother and I were going to become.
Mum’s coming to see the show for the first time in Edinburgh. I hope she likes it. But most of all I hope Tommy Walsh turns up so I can show him my magic trick.
